


Unexpected

by afullmargin (anemptymargin), dichromaniac (Pengwiny)



Series: You Got Me Brainwashed [1]
Category: L.A. By Night (Web Series), Vampire: The Masquerade
Genre: Blood Drinking, Dubious Consent, Extremely Dubious Consent, F/M, Hypnosis, Internalized Homophobia, Internalized Transphobia (mild), Just a big collection of “how to be a bad person”, Mildly Dubious Consent, Mind Control, Mind Manipulation, Non-Consensual Body Modification, Other, Period-Typical Homophobia, Vampire Sex, Vampires are Monsters y’all
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-27
Updated: 2021-01-01
Packaged: 2021-03-11 05:01:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 16,910
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28369536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anemptymargin/pseuds/afullmargin, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pengwiny/pseuds/dichromaniac
Summary: Vampire Robert Garrick of Clan Tremere goes hunting and finds an exciting new playmate.
Relationships: Robert Garrick/Original Character
Series: You Got Me Brainwashed [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2077683
Kudos: 7





	1. A Vampire Walks Into A Bar

LA is noisy, always busy without the gravitas of any other city. He's seen most of them, practically watched the States grow up around him, but he always seems to end up back in California. The biggest difference between tonight and the first time that he saw the City of Angels with the eyes of a newly dead man is stark. No longer the starry-eyed fledgling hiding amongst circus folk and depending on masking himself as a particularly superstitious magician, he blends now without trying. Refuge in audacity has been replaced with his comfortably proper visage, just another eccentric in a bespoke suit too well dressed to be a hipster in this part of town.

The upscale wine bar is quiet, it's still early at half past eight on a Sunday night, but it's a decent enough time to hunt. Few witnesses, none of which would bat an eye at seeing him leave with someone pretty, he's met many beautiful young men here after all… some more than once. His usual herd is a bit tapped out currently, many rituals demanding attention under this new upstart Prince and he doesn't have nearly the access to willing donors Strauss does. So, he makes do. If nobody takes interest he can easily enough collect a rent boy to make it through tonight. 

"Your usual, Mr. Garrick?" The bartender leans across the bar, flashing a sparkling smile as Garrick takes a comfortable stool. 

He nods and thumbs a crisp twenty from the money clip in his waistcoat pocket, producing it seemingly from nowhere followed by a shiny new gold coin. "How's trade tonight, Andy?"

The bartender laughs and blushes, already reaching for the top shelf for the bottle of Ornellaia 2014 and a warmed glass. Like most of their evening crew, Andy's been under the - not entirely wrong - impression he's a wealthy poof with an eye for younger men. It's served him well so far. "Ladies night." He answers, "Not much to your taste, I'm afraid."

It's a shame, but blood is blood and he is hungry. Beggars can't be choosers. "Leave the bottle please, and should someone order a red, do let me know." He dances the coin across his knuckles and then reaches to tuck it into Andy's vest pocket. The command is hardly needed when eased with treasures, but it will ensure there is no delay in reporting back.

Andy smiles, blankly, and glides to the end of the bar, closest to the back wall and leans over the glossy wooden bar to whisper conspiratorially with the woman perched on the last barstool. Her black leather spiked-heel and studded ankle boots and black stockings seem to clash with the black polyester of her knee length skirt. Her white sleeveless button up blouse leaves her pale white arms exposed to the cool air circulating through the quiet bar. She laughs, quietly, at something Andy just said, and she brushes a faded pink and blonde lock of hair behind her ear. The thin silver bangles jangle together, like wind chimes, as her fingers move up and then back down to wrap around the stem of her red wine glass. She laughs again and shakes her head, the tips of her straight blonde hair tickling across the middle of her back. 

Andy turns to reach for a bottle of red and makes an over the top show of presenting the cheap wine to whom is clearly a close associate, possibly even a friend. The woman leans back on her barstool, one long, unpolished fingernail tapping against her bright red lips, comically miming a deep contemplation. Andy doesn’t wait for a response, but with the fluid motions of a seasoned professional opens the bottle one handed and refills her glass. The blonde nods her thanks and her green eyes follow him as he walks towards other guests and glasses who need his attention. Her eyes stop and quickly flick down and then back up as she sees the well-dressed, curly haired man sitting with a bottle of very expensive wine as his only companion for the evening. 

"Pink and blonde at the end of the bar." He returns to Garrick despite the fact that the tall well-dressed man has barely had a sip. "Cheap red, full bodied but bitter."

The corners of Garrick's mouth turn up with the barest hint of a smile. A quick subtle glance confirms the pale red wine the slender hand grasping the stem. She's pretty, in a modern California sort of way. Not waifish like a model, but clearly trying to appear casually stylish in inexpensive off-the-rack clothes. It's her smile that catches his attention, a little forced perhaps but not fake by any stretch. "The woman or the wine?" He asks coyly as though he hadn't bothered to look.

Andy laughs gently. "She's good company. If you need a conversation partner that isn't on the clock."

Garrick murmurs and a low laugh rumbles in his chest. "Mmm, and I don't assume you'll be up for a conversation after closing?"

An awkward moment passes and Garrick is absolutely sure that the bartender is considering the offer. Then he sheepishly laughs and cups his palm over Garrick's cold hand, showing the fine gold band on his finger. "My husband wouldn't-"

"Teasing." Garrick answers calmly. "Another glass, please? I'll make introductions."

He takes the fresh glass and his own in one hand, the open bottle in the other as he slides off the stool. Introductions are easier over good wine, after all. Without word, he places both glasses on the bar next to the strange woman and pours a heavy half, then sits beside her before opening the conversation. "Ornellaia 2014, Tuscan Bordeaux Blend, Full and dark Italian red with hints of black tea and clove." He slides the glass toward her hand and flashes a small smile. "I can't finish the bottle myself, and it's a shame to let good wine go to waste."

She spins on the barstool, back facing the wall, legs crossed with knees and ankles both touching and leans back with a well-practiced ease and more obviously takes in the stranger before her. “You know you can legally take the bottle home, if you can’t finish it here.” Her eyes narrow, gauging his reaction to her slight defensiveness. It’s not the first time she’s been approached by a man in an expensive suit with expensive drinks and if he can’t handle a little sass now - well- she’s better off with her cheap, thin wine. The slate grey suit sets off the blue-green of his eyes and the copper curls of his hair. He’s handsome, she thinks, despite or because of facial hair she can only describe as “mutton chops” along his pale face, she’s not sure. “Besides, you forgot to mention the notes of tile and cedar in your pitch.” She holds her breath and waits for what she’s sure to be an excruciating session of mansplaining about the proper way to take tasting notes. 

He can't help but smile, he's no Toreador charmer, but he certainly knows when a compliment is well earned. "You know your wine." He answers in a soft baritone, fingers rising up to the full Windsor knot in his crimson tie as his left hand deftly slides a silver coin into his palm. "Educated and lovely are a dangerous combination."

He lifts his own glass then, idly rolling the coin between the knuckles of his left hand as he sips with the right, unfortunately tasting naught but ash on his tongue. She smells of a light floral perfume, probably a soap or lotion rather than the cloying amount of perfume far too many people depend on to mask their human scents, but under that he can clearly smell the gentle coppery pulse of her blood even from the comfortably casual distance. Despite his own hunger, he makes no overt attempt to close that distance, instead turning only partway toward her thick strong legs, the hem of his trousers barely brushing at her ankle. “So one must ask, if you have a nose for fine wine is it your taste or your pocketbook that drives you to a bottle clearly not fit to grace your senses?”

He’s made assumptions, of course, learned to read the body language of social status and when one is desperately trying to appear beyond their own class. He’s depended on it himself since before he was a dead man, and only in the last decade or so truly been able to embody the demeanor he’s pretended was earned for over a mortal lifetime. A liar knows a lie, and while she’s not said an untruth in words, she has the bearing of someone trying a little too hard to put on a mask that doesn’t quite fit. “That was a rude question, and frankly none of my business, but I’m not known for my sparkling wit.” He laughs softly and licks his lips, attempting to draw her attention and catch her eyes for a long enough moment to probe into her thoughts. “Robert Garrick.” He puts down the glass and extends a hand, calling upon the precious little blood left in him to warm his skin and bring a rosy wine-flush to his cheeks. “The handsome fellow behind the bar said you might enjoy a little company.”

“Did he now?” she tilts her head, not yet reaching out to touch Garrick’s outstretched hand. “Maybe dear Andy knew that I’ve been curious as to who convinced the boss to buy three cases of wine we’re never allowed to sell. Or, maybe he knew that I am currently drinking alone and below my usual standards.” She looks over to catch Andy’s eye, making sure that he did, in fact, tell this well-dressed stranger to enter her space. He’s busy, chatting up a trio of young blondes who look too sun-tanned California perfect to be anything but future trophy wives with big hair and too-white-teeth. She narrows her eyes at their plastic perfection and turns back to her new companion. “Name’s Valerie,” she says, paying attention to her voice, making sure it’s high, but not pitchy, velvety, but not bassy. “My friends call me Val, and you, Mr. Garrick, are now definitely one of my friends.” She reaches out and shakes his hand while sliding the other across the bar to wrap around the fresh glass of wine and brings it to her lips. 

She almost can’t help the small moan that escapes from her mouth as the wine flows over the edge of the glass and into her mouth. It’s thick, with a velvet mouthfeel that sits heavy on her tongue before disappearing like air, leaving only the ghost of its intensity behind. “So, Mr. Garrick, what do you do that lets you buy cases of five hundred dollars a bottle wine like most people buy six packs of beer?” She moves to uncross her legs and the hem of Garrick’s trousers slides smoothly across the black nylon around her ankle. It’s a shockingly intimate sensation that sends chills up her legs and spine until it settles in her hind brain, ready to pounce at the next opportunity. 

“Well, Val.” He smiles again, a gentle turn at the corners of his lips as he catches her eyes and sees the fresh haze of fear there. She’s afraid, not as she should be like the rabbit fears the wolf, but concerned. Nervous. She’s been hurt before, likely more than once… a sad commentary on the state of gentlemanly behavior in the modern nights. He weathers another deep sip off his wine, the brief wave of nausea quelled by the vitality of his blood for now, it’ll come back up later as always but it’s worth it to create the illusion of composure and calm. “I’m a researcher, a scholar I guess… I study antiquities and strange things from all over the world.”

He considers it only a moment, glancing around to see there are no other eyes paying him mind at the bar or at intimate tables. He places the glass back on the bar and withdraws a perfectly spherical orb of clear crystal from his jacket pocket. “For example. This is Burmese crystal, flawless and perfect in every way. It was found in the remains of a very old building in France some fifty years ago and sent to live in a minor museum of witchcraft, thought to be a seer stone.” He chuckles dryly, dropping the silver coin to the bar to juggle it between his hands. “Unfortunately, it’s a fake. Mass-produced, functionally worthless I’ve come to find, but it has an interesting story. People pay far more money than you’d imagine to learn the true story behind things they find interesting.”

Fingers working in quick simple gestures, he allows them to fall into a familiar nearly hypnotic pattern across his long fingers, side to side, up and down as he continues to speak. “There was a man in Belarus in the early 40s who attempted to tout himself as a grand diviner and seer of secrets. Bear in mind, that was not an uncommon thing, divination was quite the in thing in the war era, people desperate for answers and looking to spirituality or witchcraft when there were no easy ones to be had. Unfortunately, his little scam was uncovered quite easily - his answers were too specific, and frequently wrong. But, he turned to teaching others how to run the scam better than he did and began to mass produce these special crystal balls that were small and portable in comparison to their more Romani styled counterparts which were heavy and bulky, not easy to carry when one had to skip town in the middle of the night. The trend died out quickly, but decades later would come into popularity in the States where crystal gazing was seen as almost a form of popular culture.”

His smile widens slightly, numerous details left out but the slight glaze of her watching his fingers quite obvious. “Even simple things can have interesting stories.”

Val’s eyes widen and her mouth hangs slightly agape. “I’m not sure if I should be impressed with your knowledge, call bullshit, or what.” She snorts back a bubble of laughter, but an eye roll escapes her best efforts of containment. “I’m pretty sure I saw those things on an infomercial once. And obviously, it’s functionally worthless. There’s no such thing as magic or mind-reading.” 

She takes another slow sip of wine, letting the warmth of the alcohol seep down into her toes. She uses the wine as an excuse to take her time and turn Garrick’s? Robert’s? Bob’s? No, she decides, Garrick feels like the more appropriate moniker, words over in her mind. 

“So, is this trinket actually priceless, flawless crystal, a cheap knockoff with an interesting pedigree, or a fushigi ball you paid too much for after watching late night infomercials? And I’m fairly certain you didn’t answer my question, Bob.”

She’s pushing him, she knows it. It’s been a long week of stress, too many bills, bullshit tips and every audition a dead end. She’d be lying to herself if she wasn’t using him as an emotional punching bag, just for the moment. It’s easier, the jaded voice in her head whispers, to push him away before she actually gets to know him. Maybe he’ll even leave the wine and she can sneak Andy a glass when the manager isn’t looking. Maybe, the quiet, hopeful voice nuzzling next to the warm fuzzy feeling in her brain says, maybe… 

No such thing as magic? He can't help but chuckle, of course mind reading isn't possible, naturally. He turns his hand, allowing the globe to roll effortlessly into his palm. He could prove that magic is real with little more than a flex of his brain, could have her believe without even seeing by expending a fraction of the vitae remaining in his system. He won't. This place is far too public, and he is a gentleman when it comes to forcing his will without provocation. 

"Robert." He says a little more firmly, letting her perceive that her button pushing has ruffled him a bit. "If you don't mind. As for your question, I suppose scholarly pursuits are more a hobby that earns far more lucrative returns than being a magician." He slides his hand down, once more nestling the actually quite priceless crystal into his pocket and gauging his success in capturing her attention… entirely successful. "Illusion. Performance." He picks up the silver coin again and dances it across his fingers before displaying it before her, the custom etched rabbit quite clear on the head. "You could say I'm rather good with my hands."

He catches her eyes again, his soft light eyes peering deeper to see what's below the surface, the source of her honestly frustrating attitude. "I don't often disclose my status as an illusionist, people don't take it very seriously and I admit, I quite prefer people take me seriously. Don't you, Val?" He calls upon the blood again a simple flicker compelling her to show him something she might not want a stranger to see. "I feel like you're the kind of woman who goes out of her way to garner respect."

She smiles, an offset quirk of her lips and the tip of her tongue darts out to rest against her top lip. She shifts in her barstool and runs the pad of her index finger along the thin rim of the glass. “So, an illusionist, is it?” She’s intrigued, not only by his dexterous dodging of her questions but also the fact he does seem to be very good with his hands. 

“Is that what the pickpockets are calling themselves these days? Scholars and illusionists?” She uncrosses her ankles, deliberately running her ankle across the hem of Garrick’s perfectly pressed trousers. She’s not sure if it’s the wine or some vaguely hypnotic quality of his eyes, but her world outside this conversation starts to dim and fade. The dark cherry-stained wooden bar top, the high-pitched fake laughter from the future ex-wives club, the rhythmic clink of ice against metal as Andy shakes a cocktail all disappear, irrelevant to what, in her mind, is now the most important conversation of her life.

Suddenly, her mouth is dry and she goes for another slow pull of wine. It’s as if the movie of her life is being edited to slow motion, and she can feel the layers of personality, personas and performances flutter away like dusty snakeskins leaving her raw, pink and exposed.

Like a jump-cut out of a dream sequence the rest of the world snaps back into place. The cackling bimbos, the slide of metal on metal as Andy snaps the strainer onto the metal shaker, the “edgy”’violin covers of Nine Inch Nails playing over the speakers. She shakes her head to clear away the remnants of fog, to readjust her scales of armor. “Still haven’t answered my question, Robbie,” she smirks with a wink, “how does an illusionist scholar pay for such exquisite vino?”

He'd be offended at being called a pickpocket if that hadn't been a very useful skill at so many points in his long life. Her mind opens to him, not with the sort of clarity he's working toward achieving, but it's enough to get a glimpse below the surface as she warms to him. She's persistent, determined to get a read on him and as much as it's a little exhilarating to find a mortal who can even begin to match his wit, it's also mildly irritating and he lets that show, allows her to see that he's flustered and even potentially get the wrong idea about him. He's gotten far in his life appearing to be the sort of man others underestimate. 

He doesn't correct her this time, though. He's focused on the warm sensation of mild arousal playing at his thirst, despite her chilly exterior she's giving signals that are confirmed with the briefest glimpse of desire in her mind, desire that's quickly shut away by a deep and abiding fear, not of him but of something he can't quite put his finger on. Instead, he pulls his mind back and shifts his body forward. Risking a deep drink of wine, he flicks his wrist and the coin disappears, and then he gently brings his open palm down to rest boldly on her knee. "I feel as though my reputation speaks for itself, but I assure you my skill as a performer and keen knowledge are more than enough to finance a comfortable lifestyle. In fact, if you'd be interested I am quite famished and I'd quite like to make you a late dinner."

It's the sort of line he might normally avoid, that would be far different in his usual routine, and frankly is far too tongue-in-cheek even for him. This is different, though. He's curious and a bit intrigued, to the point where he actually does want to continue their conversation. "And I'd like to hear more about you since I've tipped my hand."

Recalling that fear within her, making an on-the-fly decision that may well end up requiring him to force his will and make her agree, he adds a soft; "I feel like you appreciate someone being forward with you, and while I admit I am very intrigued, I don't often invite women to my home."

The thin nylon of Val’s stocking does little to hide the cool temperature of Garrick’s palm, but she barely notices as anticipation frizzles across her skin. The coy flirtatious mischief drains from her grass-green eyes as she once again stares him down, trying to piece together the well-tailored mystery in front of her. She flicks her eyes over to Andy, trying to catch his attention under the guise of needing her bill, a glass of water, anything to get his feedback on the situation. 

“So far, your reputation is only as much as you’ve told me, Robert.” Val’s tongue slaps against her teeth sharply on the T. “You’re a pickpocket illusionist academic with a penchant for the arcane, esoteric and you claim to be both good with your hands and you can cook?” Val finds herself shaking her head into the bottom of her nearly empty wine glass. “Next you’ll tell me you raise unicorns or have leprechauns as your magical assistants.”

She reaches down to his hand, still resting cold and solid on her knee. Barely lacing her fingers through his, she gently lifts his hand off her leg and onto the bar top. His confession of not always taking women home or even exclusively taking men back to his place lifts a weight Val hasn’t even realized she was carrying off her shoulders. Some of the fear still cuts across her thoughts like whirling blades of anxiety, but the pace and depth have slowed. 

“You do realize this is how all the horror movies and true-crime podcasts start, right?” She asks trying to keep her tone light and joking but she watches his response, unblinkingly, looking for any microscopic tell whether or not she should trust him. She grips her wine glass, delicately swirls and downs the last mouthful in what would probably be considered flirting. 

He wants to think that she’s not being entirely earnest in her response, that the bitterness on her tongue is part of her defense. But also, he knows when perhaps he’s been too forward. She’s a skittish bunny, fearful and a little lost. When she touches him, his skin warms reflexively, the low voice of the man who made him ringing out in his ears as he catches scent of her warm blood just below the surface of those broad fingers.

Robert… you utterly useless invert. Take what you want. Be bold or go home with a sad boy that will barely satiate you. This is disgraceful.

Setting his jaw firmly, he pushes back against the voice of his beast, against the hunger welling up inside him. It’s a challenge at this point, and he’s never backed down from a challenge - even if it is one of his own making. “Unicorns and leprechauns?” He asks coyly, withdrawing his hand entirely once it hits the bar. “That’d just be greedy.” He laughs with an obvious sarcastic deference.

Pausing his thoughts, still languishing in the chiding words of his beast, he catches the flicker of her attention seeking out the comfort of the barman. Anxiety, she’s confused… uncertain. He nods slowly and downs the rest of his wine, tasting bitterness beneath the mouthful of ashes across his tongue. Be bold. He knows what those words mean, he’d certainly heard them enough times in training before being allowed to be presented to the pyramid. Don’t be afraid to walk away from failure, don’t be afraid to fail so spectacularly it looks like it’s part of the show.

His left hand dips into his pocket again, thumbing another crisp twenty from his money clip and then dropping it on the bar for Andy. “It’s been lovely speaking with you, Val. I do apologize if I’ve made an ass of myself. It’s, um, it’s not often I enjoy the company of a brash woman who’s clearly not accustomed to people recognizing her intelligence. Perhaps I’ll have the pleasure again another night.” It’s a bold move, to be certain, bluffing when he could easily force her under his will.

Garrick rises up off his stool and straightens the lines of his suit jacket before leaning in slightly, close enough she probably smell the woody musk of his cologne but not close enough to be looming over her. With a coy smile, he adds; “For the record, not a pickpocket. But, capable enough if I wanted to be and frankly taking it as a compliment that you think I'd be successful enough at it to make a good living.” He offers a small wink and then moves to step away toward the door. When she doesn’t stop him right away, he steps out to give her time to reconsider. Worst case, there are other options. Besides, he needs a moment to purge the wine from his system. 

Andy notices Mr. Garrick leaving immediately and makes his way to the corner with a look of concern on his face. “I have never seen that man leave alone before. I mean, he's always read as boys only to me, but he certainly seemed interested.”

Val leans forward, arms crossed to brace the weight of her chest and shoulders as her toes push against the foot rest of the barstool. Her blonde and pink hair falls like a curtain around her face, shrouding her from Garrick’s vision.

“I don’t know Andy, is it just me or is there something off about him?” She whispers, the bar isn’t loud and she’s not sure how good his hearing is. “And besides, you and I both know that people aren’t generally fans of surprises.” 

She’d be lying if she said she didn’t want to follow the strange mopped-topped fire-haired stranger out the door and into the night. She’d be kidding herself if she said she wasn’t turned on by thoughts of those long, talented fingers dancing across her body. A blush starts creeping across her chest and up her neck before settling in her cheeks. 

“Oh, hun,” Andy says with a sympathetic smile, “he’s not a monster. Everyone he’s left with has come back one time or another, hell, most of them ask when he’s coming back. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t curious.” Andy’s eyes twinkle as he admits his own quiet desire. “But, you know,” he holds up his hand with the wedding band, “guess I’m going to have to live vicariously through my best girl.”

Val smiles, arches a perfectly shaped eyebrow and bites the corner of her bottom lip. “If this goes sideways, Andrew, I’m blaming you, dear.” Before the smart part of her brain has a chance to overthink and stop her actions, she pops the cork back into the top of the bottle, pulls a ten dollar bill out of her bra, slaps it on the bar and moves to follow Garrick out the door. 

He’s barely made it to the door, his movements are intentionally slow, obviously he was waiting to see if she’d follow. She glides up next to him, slides her hand into his and flashes her most dazzling smile. “So, Robert, what’s on the menu?”


	2. Just A Taste

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The car ride back to his place...

Purging his blood is an easy and perfunctory act, but leaves him precariously close to the edge of hungry becoming ravenous. It takes a strong pull on his willpower to appear calm as he calls up the application on his phone to order a car - admittedly not the simplest task, his command of modern technology is quite advanced considering his age but also nowhere near the comfortable ease of mortals practically born with a mobile phone in their hand.

The door opens and he can smell the spice of her blood, the low resonance of arousal he could stoke to a bonfire. He doesn't look, but also doesn't insult her intelligence by feigning surprise when she slides her wide fingers into his palm. He's still warm, and a flex of his power brings a flush to his cheeks and begins to circulate the precious little vitae still filling him, faking a steady pulse and gentle breathing, the true flush of life that will make what comes next easier.

"I'm thinking something spicy." He answers, turning his eyes to her and tucking away his mobile. She's tall, her heels putting her on even footing to him, and he doesn't need to lean to whisper in her ear. "Perhaps starting with dessert."

So close, he can feel her strong pulse as he dares the gentlest brush of his lips on her throat. He pulls away quickly though, the piercing of his fangs threatening to slip forth such a deep temptation. Not here, too public. Better to hold back just a little longer.

She ratchets up her smile another notch and resists the urge to tilt her head and expose her neck to his soft lips. Turning her head back and shaking a stray pink strand out of her face she turns to look him in the eye. He doesn’t seem intimidated by her height, which is a refreshing change of pace from men who expect her to be a five-foot-ingenue, as is so common in this town. 

Val smiles and winks, “You know what they say, ‘life is short, eat dessert first.” She drags the sharp tip of her thumbnail over a raised vein on the back of his hand, almost rough enough to scratch. She’s waiting, again, to gauge his reaction. He doesn’t seem to notice the scraping across his hand and so she leans into his personal space, her lips close enough to brush the shell of his ear. She tries to control her own arousal, quickly galloping away like a team of wild horses and whispers, “And you’ve created quite the reputation to live up to, darling.” 

He grins a little wider then, willing himself not to answer the obvious touch across his hand. When she brings herself close to his ear, it’s all he can do not to give in and just take what he needs. “Oh? Well, I can hope that I live up to your expectations.” He murmurs, daring the slight lean to press his warmed lips against hers. His phone vibrates, heralding the arrival of the simple black town car he’d requested. The temptation is too much to resist, they won’t make it back to the place he keeps on the edge of the valley but the least he can do is restrain himself until they’re tucked in the relative privacy of the back seat.

“My dear.” He gives a small nod, stepping away to offer an arm of guidance to where the driver has already stepped out and opened the door for them. He can see the haze in the driver’s eyes, the familiar dimness of his aura. Of course, Strauss would send a ghoul to keep tabs. Oh well, it does make his intentions somewhat more secure. Sliding in beside her, he doesn’t bother with the seatbelt and instead presses himself close to her side and waits until the door closes again to nuzzle against the warm skin of her neck.

“I apologize for the formality, but I’ve had problems with drivers from other services. I do hope you don’t mind a little luxury tonight.” He murmurs, purposefully caressing her skin with each word, teasing himself likely more than he is her. The scent of spice and blood and vaguely floral product layers under his lips and this time he allows his body the anticipation of letting his fangs begin to elongate and make themselves known.

Yes, feed. Take of her, drink deep.

The voice in the back of his mind resonates with a deep foreboding timbre. His sire has always been a bit of a voyeur, he would enjoy watching this had he not decades ago seen his last night. “May I touch you?” He asks quietly, letting his voice take on the breathlessness of a creature that needs air but finds it hard to breathe. He brings his fingers toward her chest, stroking the back of his knuckles across the fabric of her blouse down the gentle slope of her breast. “Here.” It’s a step he’s learned to take over the years, avoiding the uncomfortable circumstance of forcing himself on a lover. He doubts she’ll refuse, but she might.

She was almost impressed with the sleek town car, but she remembered the ridiculous bottle of wine in her hand and that terrible line about luxury. She almost comes back with a snarky retort about his emphasis on the word “little” but his firm hand guiding -pushing- leading her into the dark-tinted world of the vehicle clears the poorly phrased joke from her mind.

She’s lost the second his lips start dancing across the sensitive skin of her neck. She knows the masquerade is almost over, but dammit if she’s not going to enjoy this for as long as she can. She almost finds the self-control to move his hand away from her breasts, but instead she lets the bottle of wine roll out of her fingers as she clutches Garrick’s hand and brings it up to her breast. She can feel his long eyelashes fluttering against her skin and she’s surprised at how quickly she’s falling down the rabbit hole of arousal. This isn’t like me, she thinks to herself with that silly smart part of her brain that’s concerned with unimportant tasks like self-preservation.

Do you really care? The rest of her brain, willingly drowning in the anticipation of Robert’s hands on her skin, answers. Well, her internal monologue keeps rambling, nobody lives forever, and she guides his other hand up to between her legs.

There’s reasons, she thinks, other than just how painfully turned on she is. They’re still close enough to the bar that if she had to walk back it wouldn’t be an awful hike. The driver, discreet as he may be, is still a witness to whatever may happen next. Sure, lots of good, smart reasons that have absolutely nothing to do with how hard and aching her cock is right now.

She’s straining against the tight nylon of her pantyhose. Val inhales a deep breath and moves her head to lock into his steel green eyes as she wraps his fingers around her length. “And here,” she exhales, sounding as nervous as she feels.

His fingers fold over the softness of her breast as his palm is guided there, deftly plucking open a button between thumb and forefinger as he draws another forced breath. The building up of her arousal reads loud and clear to his preternatural senses, she's so close to the perfect ripeness to grace his hungry tongue and it's nearly painful to restrain himself that little bit longer.

Then her fingers take his other hand so openly, and he traces along the thinness of her cheap stockings. He's not expecting the familiar push of an erection underneath her skirt, but his fingers fold there no less under the certain guidance of her hand. She stares at him and his mind opens, reading the fear behind her boldness as the pieces fall readily into place. She's terrified he'll reject her circumstance, not at all expecting his slight relief at not needing to fumble awkwardly with anatomy he doesn't understand. 

A prick is simple, it comes naturally to him - he's had a century of practice with them. His palm squeezes harder then, hard enough to feel her pulse elevated through the thin layers between her skin and his. She's expecting surprise, disgust maybe, possibly even rage. Instead, he presses his lips against hers and closes his eyes to shut that open door for now.

Sliding his palm into her blouse, he cups over the small swell of her breast under scratchy lace, rubbing his thumb encouragingly over her nipple. "Thank you." He whispers, breaking the kiss and again finding his lips against the strong thrum of her carotid. Then finally, allowing himself to give in to his own need, he pierces into her flesh and he takes.

He's learned to be so gentle over the long years, extending the innate pleasure of the Kiss until it's a sexual experience in itself, each bite leaving his lover in the tight grasp of the precipice of orgasm and himself achingly erect. He moans low and loud against her skin, licking at the precious spice of her blood as his hands grope desperately at her body. One deep drink, enough to take the edge off… enough to have her in his bed for the evening and give as much as he takes.

Licking her wounds, they seal and any trace of his transgression is hidden away from all but the knowing eyes of their driver as he forces back his fangs to bite far more harmlessly and mark her pale flesh. "Delicious."

She didn’t even realize how much tension, how much adrenaline has been revving up her system until Garrick presses his lips to hers in a statement of not just acceptance, but appreciation. The wave of relief that crashes into her once she realizes that he’s not going to stop - or worse - is almost as arousing as his sharp teeth biting her lower lip as he breaks the kiss.

She moans with frustration as his lips leave hers until he moves down to worship her neck. The soft caress of his curls against her jawline, the flutter of his eyelashes against her skin and the sound he makes as he kisses her sensitive flesh drives her to the edge and he’s barely even touched her. She feels dizzy and lightheaded, almost like she did back in the wine bar, where the world narrowed and darkened. The steady vibrations of the tires thump in time with the pulses in her neck, in her cock. She can feel his desperation as his thumb speeds it’s teasing of her peaked nipple, his other hand wrapping around her length as it strains against its polyester prison. Garrick’s compliment snaps her back to reality, the streaks of bright lights reflected through the windows as the car speeds away to places unknown, the cold, focused air blasting through the AC, the squeak of the leather as she moves to lean back and pull Garrick on top of her. 

“Fuck, Robert,” she pants as she desperately tries to thrust up into his hand. She pulls his hand off of her breast and brings it up to her mouth. She curls her tongue around his index finger in a deliberate pantomime and sucks it into her mouth, relishing the obvious surprise on Garrick’s face as she twists and turns her tongue around the digit. She lets the finger slip from her mouth and rest on the tip of her chin as she “Let me taste you,” Val whispers, breathlessly, “please.”

He shouldn't, not so brazenly, not when the Keeper's ghoul has eyes on him and will report back something so deviant as lowering himself to sexual behavior with a mortal. That doesn't make the offer any less appealing, doesn't make the craving to feel just a little bit of life in him go away. Attempting to delay, distract her just a little longer, he leans in and kisses her again, letting it linger until he can feel her scrambling for breath underneath him.

"Not just yet." He whispers against her kiss-bruised lips. "We're not far now, I'd hate to have to stop at just a taste."

Nuzzling along her jaw, he murmurs against her ear; "A lady should be comfortable somewhere private before indulging, no?" Not that he's presuming, he's making a deliberate suggestion to her clouded mind. "We can take all night in my bed."

His hand finds hers and guides it to the rise in his trousers without hesitation, then pinches and lowers the zipper himself. "Touch me? For now." A little something to play with, as though he won't be achingly erect until the blood lust wears off. He's tight enough against her that even if he can't hold back from making a mess, she won't see the crimson blooms on his briefs.

"And we'll both have a taste soon."

Of course she can wait until they’re comfortable, until they’re in, what she can only imagine, is a giant luxurious bed, based on the rest of the evening’s proceedings. Why did she ever want anything else? How did she ever think that anything but waiting until Garrick’s command, his permission, was acceptable?

Val nods and hums as she wraps her hand around Garrick’s rigid cock. She moans against him, relishing the thought of later, when she can suck him down and devour him properly, how good it’s going to feel inside her, how much she wants to be inside him.

She strokes him through the black fabric of his tight briefs, scratching her nails delicately over the tip and then sliding back down to the base. Val looks back up at his face through long, dark eyelashes. He’s so calm and commanding, the earlier hints of desperation washed away. 

She runs her other hand through his hair, marvelling at how each curl manages to be so soft and so defined all at once. Val flexes her hand and as she curls her long, strong fingers into Garrick’s hair she pulls back and licks a long stripe from his collarbone up and behind his ear. “Delicious” she whispers back into his ear. She means it too, he tastes like faded cedar and allspice with hints of blackberry and tea. Struck by a wicked idea, Val traces the outside shell of his ear with her tongue, starting at the top and moving up, around and down until finally she sucks the pad of his earlobe into her mouth and bites down. 

The confident touch is delightful, a firm hand stroking the hard bulge as he twitches in response against her fingers. Then she licks over his ear and fuck if that gentle bite doesn't do things for him. It's pure pleasure now, coasting in the warm place where he's taken the edge off his need and has more in the very near future and can indulge in far more fanciful pursuits. 

He groans low in his throat, well aware of the weight of eyes on him but enjoying himself a little too much to care. "Mmm, you are a feisty one, aren't you?" He murmurs, eyes half-lidded as he purposefully evades her gaze. He doesn't need to know what she's thinking right now, he can feel it pushing against him and tugging his mind far away to an evening in Prague where he indulged far too vigorously with a pair of beautiful men in their fine satin lingerie. 

"I suppose a nibble for a nibble is fair." He grins wide and wicked, resisting the urge to take more of her so soon. As delightful as it would be to lick her clean after, forcing an orgasm in the back of this car might be a mark on his otherwise flawless record. "I should have warned you, I can be quite rough when the mood takes me… but I feel like you're a woman I can try to break. You're not made of glass."

His hand finds her breast again, openly groping the softness for the odd sensation of incongruous flesh with the firm rise of her cock pressed against him. "This evening's been quite fortuitous for me." He lowers his head again, tearing free the button barely hiding the lace framing her breast, and brings his mouth to kiss there, dragging just a hint of his fangs over her skin but not piercing the flesh. Just a tingle, just a tease.

Just a little something to make sure his boss knows this is purely seeking out a meal. If she moans for him, there's no way to know he isn't drinking.

Val grins at the compliment and continues to pull Garrick’s hair in a steady, firm rhythm. “You said you were in the mood for spicy, after all.” The flirtatious tone is back in her voice and she is revelling in the combination of dark promises and praise and his enthusiasm for their current situation. She wants to rip the rest of her shirt off, buttons be damned and pull his hair until his mouth is just where she wants it. “And no, I’m not made of glass, but you’re going to have to try harder than this to break me, sugar.” 

She knows the taunt is going to get a rise out of him, but she wants to see that undercurrent of barely controlled want return to his demeanor. Val grinds her hips up and against his leg, enjoying the friction, but also waiting to see the desperation return behind his eyes. She wants to see him come undone, to beg her for relief. His teeth tickle the swell of her breast, just above the black lace demi cup. She’s not sure why, but she’s reminded of the probable hickey lingering on her neck. “Go on, bite me, just like before,” she’s not quite begging, but she’s not asking nicely either. “I need you to, please.” 

She flattens her palm and drags it along the underside of his cock, still encased in its cloth prison. When she gets to the head she wraps her hand around the tip and flexes her fingers over the top before sliding her palm back down to cup and massage his balls. She pulls Garrick’s hair up and over, trying to catch his teeth on the black lace of her bra cup and pulling it down using his mouth as a tool. 

He chuckles low in his throat, even as she takes firm hold on him. It’s so nice when they’re spirited after so many sad boys who were simply content to have. This is… fun. Perhaps not the most intellectual of pursuits, but there’s a lot to be said for a good time. The hard grind is enough to force a throbbing without even trying, his body responding to each of her delightful touches. It’s utterly unfair to just ask for his bite, he’s not so hungry he can’t resist, but dear Lord he can’t imagine not giving her that thrill when she seems so intent on getting it.

A fang catches cheap lace, tearing it open and spilling the softness of her little breast to him fully and he doesn’t even think before catching her nipple against his tongue and sinking his fangs deep. Sweet intoxicating vitae flows over his tongue freely, pulsing and warm as he sucks eagerly at her flesh. Not a big drink, not too much he can’t take more later, but it is better than anything - better than knowledge, better than sex.

Good on you, boy! Haha! I knew you had it in you to do something useful for once. Drain her. Leave her lifeless husk in the back of that charlatan’s chariot. You can seize the world, childe. Do not waste it on such petty frivolity as fruitless copulation.

Garrick snarls at the deep rumble of his sire’s voice, the Beast pressing him and threatening to send him into a truly barbaric frenzy. Then her fingers caress his balls, squeezing and encouraging him to take pleasure in her, to give this human that much for the life that he’s taking. He lets up with a low moan, lapping up the tiny beads of her blood and sealing her wound before rubbing his face in the smooth valley between her breasts. She’ll bruise deep, but he will not take her life tonight.

It’s a small miracle he didn’t come, but he can feel the tension building within him and demanding that willed release.

The world blissfully narrows again, to the small dark world of the car, the weight of Garrick’s body on hers, the feeling of his mouth on her breast and how responsive he is to the touch of her hand. She doesn’t push him further, or ask for more, there’s still that need locked away in a glass cage, waiting to break free as soon as the command is given, but not before. 

“Yes, just like that, Robert… please…” she may not be able to push past whatever strange wall is in place to seek out his pleasure, but she’s so close to coming all over her cheap nylons she doesn’t have the will to ask for anything else, “fuck, I’m going to come all over the back of this car, please,” she’s not sure if she wants him to get her there or command her to stop or keep her dancing on this razor thin blade of exquisite ecstasy.

“I don’t… I don’t know if I can stop, please…” Val begs. She can feel the soft burn of his facial hair rubbing against her chest, somehow soft and coarse all at once and the sensation pours waves of electricity across her torso. She wraps her legs up and around his hips and bends her knee and ankle to drive one spiked heel into the meat of Garrick’s ass to push his face back up to make eye contact with hers. Without warning or preamble she pulls his face down against hers and slides her tongue into his open mouth. He tastes like he smells, the faded elements of the long-forgotten wine, warm, fragrant wood and something else, familiar, metallic but she can’t quite place it. Instead, she returns her focus to devouring as much of Garrick’s mouth as he’ll allow. 

“Not yet, Val.” He commands quietly, flicking his eyes up to meet hers with the deep intent gaze of his will, still tasting the sweet wine of her tongue. It’s too good to waste on a show that will disgrace him, too good to not taste it on his lips and enjoy the act for what it is. “You will wait until you cannot. Do you understand?”

He’s learned to give orders like this, to grasp not only the power of his will but the power of simple intent to bring a mortal to their knees, to force his will without the aid of his abilities beyond the subtle little probe of his mind pushing into theirs. With renewed vigor, her vitality flowing freely within him, he holds her gaze and allows time to stop for her - it could be minutes, could be hours but for her it’s seconds before the car is slowing and pulling up in front of a tall apartment building, completely non-descript orange-pink stucco with fake palm trees and a doorman under a colorful purple awning. “Val, we’re here. I’m going to take you in now, and you’re going to feel so very needy.”

His attention snaps to the driver, freeing his grip on Val’s mind. It’s harder on ghouls, of course, always the chance their bond to their master is strong enough to resist, but he has to try. He’s seen and heard far too much. Meeting his eyes in the rearview mirror, the man tries to look away but can’t resist his gaze. “You’ve been an excellent driver. I’m sure Mr. Strauss will be pleased when you report that I’ve been working on our project.”

The driver freezes for a moment and then nods. “Yessir, Mr. Garrick. Enjoy your evening, sir.”

There’s a chance he could be playing along, could be lying, but the haze of a clouded mind is hard to fake. No less, Garrick slides off the lovely lap of his playmate and thumbs a gold coin from his pocket over the driver’s seat before ushering her out, nimble hands barely making his zip up to appear slightly less disheveled as they brush past the doorman looking quite a state.


	3. Blood and Blackberries

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally, some privacy.

He’s calm, as much as he can be, as he slides his jacket off and over Val’s broad shoulders to hide the torn clothes and ruptured button, looping an arm under her to support her unsteady gait as she exits behind him. “I think the wine might be kicking in.” He flashes her a warm smile, knowing full and well the signs of mild blood-loss. Too much, too quickly. He’ll have to be careful tonight. The top floor never seemed so far away.

“Mmmhmm,” she mumbles, sleepily, drunkenly, as she leans into his shoulders to steady her gait as they walk through the lobby towards the elevators. She tilts her head over to whisper in his ear, “s’nice place,” she giggles and she wobbles slightly on her narrow heels. “You smell s’nice too,” she nuzzles against the small hollow under the end of his jawbone by his neck. 

She takes a step and the heel of her boot slips on the polished tile and she nearly takes Garrick down to the floor as she attempts to regain her balance. She grabs at his tie and shirt for leverage to pull herself back up to standing. She can feel his hands wrap around her waist and she drops her head onto his shoulder for balance. 

The next few minutes, hours, no it couldn’t be more than minutes, no matter what her fuzzy brain is trying to tell her, pass by in a blur of the clack of heels on the elevator floor, the button for the top suite lighting up, the way Garrick’s hair looks like tendrils of a supernova in the mirrored ceiling of the small box. 

The bell dings, thick carpet that’s almost harder than the tile to walk across as the spikes of her shoes sink deep into the plush floor, Garrick’s hand around her waist, another around her shoulder. A door, opens, a chair, finally, she can get rid of these damnable boots, a glass of water, where did that come from? The water starts working its way through her system and she wiggles her toes, free from the pinching toes of her boots and looks around Garrick’s home. 

He’s not quite so practiced at leading someone barely upright, usually he has the self-control to stop at a sip, but tonight is proving to be one of new experiences and circumstances. He guides Val through the lobby easily, glad for the evening hours making a drunken stumble somewhat more acceptable. The elevator is the worst of it, but he takes his time gently pressing kisses at her throat and subtly checking her pulse to ensure it’s still strong and hasn’t yet gone thready. She’ll be fine, a little something sweet and she’ll be ready for another drink after they’ve had some fun. She’ll wake up with a hell of a hangover, but it’ll at least make up for the state she’ll be in after a one night stand.

“Shh.” He chuckles, rubbing his fingers over her instep as he frees her toes from the boots - directing a silent gaze toward the man standing in the doorway just outside of her reduced line of view. “Rest here, darling. I’ll get you something a bit more filling than some water and then I’ll show you a little more of my reputation.” He murmurs, nuzzling against her cheek.

The room itself is simple, more modern than his appearance would perhaps give the expectation of. Warm chocolate colored carpeting and black leather mixed with hardwood with a few fine glass accents. It’s hardly a palatial penthouse, but it suits his needs when he’s away from the Magic Castle and his haven. It’s a safe nondescript place to work or play away from prying eyes. A large leather sofa dominates the room, an equally long coffee table cluttered in a somewhat chaotic fashion with books and notes written in a very precise tight shorthand, titles that are in a dozen languages. 

He slips away and presses his ghoul into the small kitchen, seeing the remnants of his meal across the table. “I told you to go out tonight, David.”

“I know. I-it’s still early, Sir. I was going-”

Garrick lowers his voice, barely a hair over a whisper and glares until the tall man with strong shoulders and long blonde hair pulls away from. “I’ll be taking my companion to the bedroom. I expect you will be silent when you leave.” The refrigerator, mainly there for David’s provisions when he’s allowed to stay there, is mostly empty save for a few emergency blood bags and a few takeout containers, blessedly also has a single bottle of orange juice and some blackberries. “And bring back groceries for yourself, this is pitiful and I don’t even eat. Need I remind you that you are under obligation to take care of yourself?”

“Yessir.” He nods quickly, casting his eyes downward. “I will. I just-”

“Don’t care. Busy. Don’t move until the bedroom door closes. Can you manage that?” David doesn’t answer beyond a cowed nod, he’s known Mr. Garrick more than enough years to know when he’s been chastised and simply take it. With a last small growl, Garrick takes his goods back to his waiting prize.

“I’ve brought a little something, not quite a proper dinner but I can’t have such a lovely lady too drunk to consent now, can I?” He murmurs, quickly making his way across the carpet and popping open the top of the glass bottle before pressing it into her hand. “Now… you drink up and put some berries in your belly to soak up some of that lovely wine and I will take care of this situation you seem to be struggling with.”

He makes a show of smiling up at her as he slowly sinks down onto his knees, the toes of his well-polished wingtips creasing against the carpet. His hands aren’t hesitant on her strong legs, following the wispy rasp of nylon under his palm as he strokes up to her parted thighs. “Open up for Daddy…” He murmurs, uncertain if she can even process his words just yet. “Lets see just how much a state you are.”

She takes a long sip from the bottle of orange juice and the bright acid and sticky sugar pull her focus back to a more grounded reality. Val’s needy cock is pulsing and straining against the tight prisons of her panties and stockings. She’s torn between the ravenous hunger in her belly, the screaming need between her legs and the insistent voice buried deep begging her to realize that something isn’t right. 

She smiles around the heavy glass mouth of the juice bottle and opens her legs wider to give Garrick a comfortable space between her legs. The tension that threatened to consume her in the back of the car is back, pleasure pulling her nerves taught and electric. She puts the juice down and reaches for a blackberry. Val’s free hand finds its way back into Garrick’s hair, thoroughly mussed by her earlier attention. She pulls his head back to stare into his eyes, somehow more otherworldly in the dim lighting of the apartment, as she traces the shape of her lips with the dark fruit.

“I have to admit, I didn’t see this evening ending up with you on your knees, but I’m certainly not complaining,” she confesses breathlessly before she pops the berry into her mouth, enjoying the tiny explosions of sugar on her tongue.

“So, Daddy, are you going to touch me or not?” she whines, almost impatiently.

"You'll find I'm quite comfortable on my knees." He answers, rubbing his face along her inner thighs as he slowly pushes up her skirt to be rewarded with the sight of her arousal pushing firm and ardent against the confinement of clothing. One hand drops, opening the buttons of his waistcoat to allow free movement, but the other purposefully catches the thin nylons at the junction of her thigh on his long sharp pinky nail and slices it open with a hard tug.

Ripping them open without regard for anything but his own need to taste her flesh, he buries his face against the strained bright red cotton as though her cock was packaged so neatly just for him. Pearly wetness seeps through and he meets the wet spot with his tongue, answering her demand with a wordless draw that seeks out her wet tip and suckles through the musky stain he'd caused. Satin, he thinks, she would look marvelous coming through soft shiny satin, those delicate beads pumping and dripping down a dark red sheen.

This is more than adequate, though. He glances up at her and moans openly, far more intense than he had allowed himself to be in the car, under the watchful eyes. He might need the lifeblood, but this is what he wants. Seeing the pleasure on her face, he sweeps his nose over the exposed flesh where her cock has pulled the slip of fabric toward the side, then in an easy motion he envelops the thick shaft entirely. 

He has to try to make his mouth wet, has to call forth the thin coppery facsimile of saliva as she slides down the flicking lap of his tongue and pushes at the back of his ravenous throat. It's more than worth the effort to taste the hot dribbles of her precome already spilling for him. 

The sensation of Garrick’s cool mouth on her overheated skin feels like a miracle. She brings her other hand down to tangle in his hair and she has to resist the urge to thrust up into his wet mouth. He feels so good, clearly practiced and enjoying the act without shame or hesitation. 

That same desperate need that threatened to spill over in the back of the car roars back to life, but still held back by some mysterious force. She wants to give into it, the heavy pulls of Robert swallowing every drop of her arousal. 

She looks down at the man practically worshipping at the altar of her sex and she’s driven right back up to the brink. She thinks just how beautiful Garrick will look swallowing down her come, his cheeks hollowed out as he pulls every last drop out of her aching sac. 

His body moves to encourage her, rocking and bobbing his head to take her girth easily down his throat. The perks of not having to breathe are self-evident, even if he'd lost his gag reflex well before his death. Coming up between her thighs, he rubs at the warm cotton covering her balls and the squeezes gently to milk the precious drops from her.

Now. His mind cries out, the first sound from him a deep desperate groan that rattles up the hard shaft as he withdraws to suck ardently at the throbbing head of her cock. He's not above whimpering, not when he so deeply wants this, can't resist the sneaky pleasure of fondling his erection through his zip. Soon… soon they'll have both taken the edge off and he can take her to the security of his room where he can take further of this intriguing mortal.

Disgusting. Perverse. Pathetic creature so desperately in love with humanity. Go ahead, stick your cock in this ladyboy and pretend you're not a waste of potential. 

The voice continues, his Beast digging him deeper and making him fight to maintain the flush of life and his needy arousal. It's perverse, he knows, he doesn't need the voice of his maker mocking him from beyond the veil. But still… he wants. He'll do penance later, thrust his whole being into what he should be doing tonight, but right now he can't want for anything but her come in his mouth, her body underneath his, to pretend for just a little bit he's less of a monster. 

"Please, madam?" He murmurs, rubbing the wetness of her precome across his lips. "Don't hold back."

She can feel the wall of plexiglass separating herself from her pleasure shatter at his quiet command. Val’s whole body quakes and she’s beyond politeness as she fucks down into Garrick’s throat. Her knuckles turn white from the intensity of her grip on Robert’s hair and she drags her sharp fingernails across his scalp as she shouts his name.

She feels like she could come into his mouth forever, feeling his lips against the base of her cock, copper curls brushing against her abdomen as he encases her entire pulsing length with his mouth and throat. 

“Fuck, Robert,” she pants as she comes back to her body. “My turn to taste you,” she growls wickedly. With one hand she pushes him back and onto the thick carpet. Quick as lightning, she’s followed him down, her knees sinking into the floor on either side of his hips. With one hand she pulls one of his wrists up above his head and snakes the other through the open zipper of his trousers.

She leans down to kiss him, excited by the surprised moan and taste of herself on his tongue. She answers with a moan of her own as she wraps her hand around his solid, heated cock.

He can take the rough slide of her cock spilling over his tongue and then forcing open his throat, it’s exhilarating and so very nice. He moans into the rough shove as her nails dig at his scalp and lets the pleasure come, allows himself to enjoy what’s happening. Then she pushes him back and he simply allows that too, allows her to straddle his hips and pin his wrist when he could very easily overpower her. “Val…” He sighs tenderly when she breaks the kiss, again calling on his will to not lose himself entirely in the tight grasp around his exposed cock. “My bedroom, please? Not like this… you deserve comfort before you take of me.”

From this angle he can peek into the hallway toward the open kitchen door where David is flitting silently but clearly watching what’s happening - the obvious seething jealousy clear on his ghoul’s face. Part of him would love nothing more than to push the little simp and let him see what comes next, what he’s so infrequently allowed to be part of. But no, he wants to do this right. Pushing up against her, he takes another long and lingering kiss, letting her taste the salt on his tongue and the lingering copper of stolen life. Then her eyes open and he flexes the force of his will. “You should be in my bed, beautifully rumpled and sucking my cock in the very lap of luxury.”

His loose hand reinforces the command, grasping at her shirt and tearing open the restraining button across her chest to expose what’s left of her bra, one soft little breast hanging out of the torn black lace as he gropes openly to see her fully on display. Such a curiosity, breasts, he’s never deigned to understand the allure of them but there is even in his strange sexuality an allure to them. He wants to see her clothes ripped and hanging off her frame, hard cock lewdly jutting from come stained panties and chest displayed with such roughness, against the backdrop of his silk blend sheets and four poster bed.

“Let me have you in my bed, Val.”

As the words fall from Garrick’s lips, Val shifts her weight back onto her feet and stands up in a single fluid motion, like she’s a marionette whose string was pulled. She takes a few steps backwards, giving Garrick space to stand up. There’s a part of her still raging against this incomprehensible loss of willpower, this loss of self-determination, this loss of control.

“Of course,” she responds, almost hollowly, the usual sparks of mischief and sarcasm missing from her tone. She blinks, blankly, as he takes her hand and leads her deeper into the labyrinth of his apartment. He turns a corner, then another and finally, it feels like forever inside Val’s mind, they’re at the door to his room, dark wood against dark walls. The fog is fading from her brain, slightly, enough for her to regain some of her characteristic playfulness now that they’re almost to his bed. 

Garrick pushes the handle down and swings it open, revealing, almost exactly the image her mind supplied when she contemplated his bed. A dark wood, almost black four poster bed with intricately carved details dominates the space. The bedspread and pillows are either black or navy or some color that is both and yet neither at the same time. She feels compelled to lay down on the soft fabrics and see how her blonde hair and pale skin contrasts against the dark material. 

She turns and grins, the tip of her tongue sticking out against the smeared and faded lipstick around her mouth. “I believe you said something about me finally getting to suck your cock. I think I’ve been pretty patient, don’t you?” she says, boldly. She wriggles her hand free of his, wraps it around the red tie and walks backwards, leading him, towards the bed only stopping once her knees hit the edge of the frame. She pulls his face down, not too far, but she’s lost a few inches in height when she lost her boots and moans as his mouth opens up to hers once more. 

He should feel guilty using his abilities on someone who couldn’t begin to fight back against it, but he doesn’t. Not when she responds so beautifully and rises up, her cock stirring but pushed back and hidden under her skirt as she backs off of him. She moves gracefully barefoot, following his guiding hand with such lovely eager pace, barely glancing around the cramped but luxurious comfort of his bedchamber as she pulls him toward the bed - single minded and bent to his will, even giving him what he wants as the haze fades away and she pulls him down to kiss her.

“You’ve been so patient.” He answers, smiling against her lips and licking gently over the remnants of her smeared lipstick. Showing the strength in his lean body, he takes her by the hips and for a brief moment the thought of turning her and hiking up that cheap skirt flicker across his mind - would she beg for that too? Perhaps. Perhaps not yet. Instead, he pushes her down to the bed and then pushes one hand through the soft pink and blonde strands of her hair, grasping tight against her skull. “Tell me, Val… do you also have a reputation?” He tugs gently, his free hand thumbing open the button of his trousers and letting them slip to the floor as he pulls her down to the hard jut of his cock. “Or shall this start one?”

The confidence comes naturally in this room, the center of his power in what could most easily be called his home away from home. His left hand shoots out and a flick of his wrists sends a crackle of flame to a large pillar candle on the bedside table, casting a shadow across her pale skin in contrast to the small amount of moonlight let in by heavy black curtains. “Either way, you’ve earned your reward for your patience.”

Her eyes shoot open from their heavy half-closed state as the spark of flame lights the candle that stands in where a normal person would have a bedside lamp. “What...what the hell…” she starts before she’s utterly entranced by Garrick’s cock pressing against her lips. She’ll ask about the candle later, but there’s more pressing needs at hand. She gently sucks the head of his cock into her mouth, pulling back his foreskin gently and swirling her tongue over the tip. She closes her eyes and relaxes her throat to swallow down as much of his length as she can. 

She moans as she can feel him hit the back of her throat and she pushes past the uncomfortable sensation of her gag reflex as she tries to consume as much of him as she can. She’s moving her tongue up and over and around in a constant teasing motion in sharp contrast to one hand slowly caressing and massaging Robert’s balls and the other working its way around to the meat of his ass. She pushes him forward, deeper into her mouth and hums at the uniquely sweet, woody and metallic taste of him on her tongue. 

She’s not sure how long she can keep him fully seated in her mouth like this, but she wants to keep him here at her mercy for as long as humanly possible. She can feel a fuzziness seeping into the periphery of her vision as oxygen becomes a more pressing need than the intoxicating flavor of Garrick on her tongue. Val pulls back, enjoying the tension of Robert’s hand buried in her hair, clearly at easy directing the movements of her head. She takes a deep breath and licks a stripe down the underside of his cock, from head to base. 

She could do this forever, sucking him down as deep as she can then pulling back to take a breath as necessary. She’s lost in the sensation of his sharp fingernails against her scalp, the increasingly heavy weight of his cock against her tongue and the sounds, he makes the most beautiful sounds: light whimpers and throaty moans mixed in with words she doesn’t take the time to understand beyond their involuntary nature. 

“Like I said,” she comments on a brief pause to catch her breath, “delicious.” Then she’s burying her face deep into the copper curls at the base of his cock. 

"Yes…" He hisses as she works him over, giving in to the low boil of arousal that's partially her doing, the low tug of dulled appetite recognizing the pleasure of sexuality. Deeper than that though is the hedonistic revelry of carnal pleasures, the taking of that which his body no longer needs but no less craves. He moans low in his chest, his voice expanding and filling the space that's almost cramped with shelf upon shelf of old books and fetishes, arcane baubles and things he can't yet let go to join the treasures of the pyramid. 

"Such a good girl…" He murmurs, the tight grip holding her down against his root until her throat spasms and he can feel her pulse go erratic with the precious need for oxygen. He allows the pull back and wipes his fingers across her spit-slick lips. Such a beautiful debauched whore he's found, so delicious and curious and full of vitality. Her hands tease and explore, not tentative in the least, much like the grasp of her hot mouth it is purposeful and he respects that.

Then his fingers curl as she slides down his hard prick again and he doesn't relent when her throat flutters around him, doesn't pull back until her low throaty sounds become panicked and wet. Without even thinking, his fingers let go, tugging free several pink strands that have wrapped around his fingers as his impotent fluids pump forth into the warm clutch of her gagging throat. "Swallow it." He demands, the first strong wave of taboo pleasure rippling through him. "Take your reward, darling."

He's already failed, already - as some would put it - fucked up. He may as well enjoy the release and deal with the consequences when he must.

It always comes back to bite you, Robert. Just can't resist the disgusting urge to sow your seed. Will you kill this one too? Will she die to cover your shame the way that boy in Prague did?

He mouths a silent "no", biting down hard on his lower lip to force back the rage within him. Another slip, another crack in his perfect facade. No. He can fix this, he can let her go and it will fade away until he's not even a memory in her mind. A fever dream, a drunken tryst. He draws a wholly unnecessary breath, forcing the visage of humanity to remain upon him, and looks down to watch her sputter for breath and swallow down his spend.

"You have quite the tongue." He pushes the blood into his cheeks, still blushing deep and fully erect. Distracting himself more than her, he shoulders off his waistcoat and pulls free the loosened knot of his tie. "I suppose it's fair to ask." he slides into her lap, again rubbing himself against the growing hardness under her skirt, seeking even more sensation. "Would you prefer I take advantage of having such a well-equipped playmate, or would you prefer to have me inside you?"

Either way, he's not finished just yet.


	4. Endings and Beginnings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A good time and a goodbye

She grins, wickedly, and slowly grinds up against his weight, heavy and solid in her lap. She strokes his still hard length, too aroused, too curious to be concerned over the biological impossibility of the circumstance. She buries her face in his warm, flushed neck, enjoying the heat and the way he smells. 

She wants to be naked and feel the expanse of his pale back against her chest. She wants to bury herself in him and drown in the way his body reacts to her. She’s surprised by the offering of a choice. Most of her lovers assume that she is only there to be taken , but Robert… he clearly seems just as interested in what she has to give. 

She leans into his sensitive ear and whispers, her lips brushing against the soft skin, “let me take you, you’re going to be beautiful once I open you up.” 

A small eager groan catches in Garrick's throat and he can't help letting it deepen to a wicked laugh. He's got half a mind to pull up her skirt and have her raw and scraping his resilient flesh, but of course mortals like the niceties of lubrication beyond spit when it's so readily available. "Please do take your time." He grins, catching her eyes to read the lust and curiosity behind their glassy depths."Fingers, fist, prick… I'm not shy about pleasure."

He never has been, and it's a pity how many of his string of lovers have clung to silly notions of shame in moments of passion. Sliding off her lap somewhat reluctantly, he takes himself to the side of the bed and the drawer of highly specialized equipment he's collected over the years. Leather straps and buckles and gags, a rubber ring to restrict blood flow, a heavy wooden paddle, a phallus that buzzes and coaxes delightful cries from even reluctant boys. What he needs is on the very top, a half-full bottle of warming gel that smells like cloves and cinnamon. He tosses it beside her on the bed and begins quickly opening his shirt buttons. 

"On my knees? My back?" He shoulders off the garment, dropping it to the floor before giving in to the urge to grasp at the fine steel rings through his nipples and tugging hard enough to feel the spark of pain that so quickly ebbs away. "Perhaps sidesaddle?"

Whatever plans she had originally cultivated vanish from her thoughts as she watches Garrick tug at the unexpected metal looped through his dark nipples. She reaches out and slides her pinkie finger between the silver circle and his skin and pulls. “Well,” she grins, “this gives me some ideas. On your back, now.”

She’s surprised by the command in her voice, but she’s been so patient and he’s been so receptive. She pushes him down and stands up between his knees and flicks open the few surviving buttons on her blouse before letting it fall off her shoulders leaving her in the torn mess of what used to be her favorite bra. 

“Don’t stop playing with those on my account, darling.” Her head tilts towards the nipple rings. “I want to watch.”

She unzips her skirt and lets it fall down her narrow hips into a puddle on the dark carpet. The ruined nylon stockings come off next with only minimal awkwardness. 

She slides forward, hovering over Garrick’s chest, nestling her hips between his legs and reaching for the small bottle of lube that’s rolled next to his ear. She flips the top open with her thumb and tests the slick liquid between two fingers. “Mmm, this is lovely,” she purrs as she reaches down to stroke his cock with the warm oil. She brings her hand back up and pours more along her fingers before bringing them back down to circle around the tight ring of Garrick’s ass. “So is this,” she whispers into his ear as the first knuckle of her index finger slips inside. 

The gentle yank on his piercing is a delightful spark, but when she takes him down to the bed it's even better. Oh the looks his peers would have to see him not only consorting with kine, but taking such pleasure in doing so, in allowing them to subjugate and take of his body so freely, it's intoxicating and perverse. 

"I wouldn't dream of stopping." He offers her a lusty grin, watching her expose such delicious flesh for his entertainment. His fingers pinch and tug, his throat pushing out small sounds of desire that are utterly truth. He wants this, wants to be opened and filled and taken. Wants to feel something that isn't rage or hunger.

He opens his thighs for her, gazing down the sparse patches of coarse ginger curls to where she strokes at the firm flesh of his manhood, the pale skin glistening and wet. "Please… he gasps when she finally presses against his opening. It's not even close to a tease, barely a tickle, and he pulls his nipples painfully taut to distract himself from the urge to dribble warm wet crimson from his cockhead. David might appreciate that reward, she is not like him.

"More." He pleads, a whine of desperation in his voice. He wants the fullness of her cock sheathed within him, her soft breasts pushed against his lips. "I need more."

Her dwindling self control nearly breaks at his plea and she wants to give up on the game and take and force until he’s a writhing mess beneath her. She slides her finger out and away, back to circling, teasing, “But I have a reputation to maintain, dear. I wouldn’t want to disappoint.” On that final word she pushes both her index and ring fingers deep inside, searching out that bundle of nerves that will surely drop him even deeper into the well of need. 

“And you’ll get more sweetheart, but right now I am thoroughly enjoying making you beg.” She scissors her fingers, surprised at his slightly cool temperature. She shakes the thought away, off to live with the other strange incongruities of the evening. Val’s hips thrust, her cock half-hidden behind her red cotton panties rubbing against the inside of Garrick’s thigh. 

She brings her free hand down and hooks her thumb through the waistband of her panties and tugs them down, enjoying the “pop” as her cock is freed finally from its cloth confinement. Val doesn’t even think about concepts like “shy”’as she ruts against Garrick’s lightly freckled skin. 

He's not above begging when down the rabbit hole, and the sight laid out before him is more than enough to hold his wanting firmly front and center. Divine fingers fill his emptiness again and seek out against the dulled response of his prostate and he pushes his blood harder, warming and throbbing for her. "God yes…" He moans,eyes half-lidded but opening wide as the cotton is drawn down over her balls to expose the hard glory of her cock.

"Please…" He whimpers, flattening his feet against the bedding and cruelly twisting the hoops pinched between his fingers until the deep ache of pain becomes desperate pleasure. "Come closer… I want to touch your lovely breasts while you fuck me." He doesn't need to manipulate her right now, he knows how pathetic he sounds begging for her cock.

She feels so good rubbing at his thigh, smearing that delightful salty wetness across his skin, wasting it when it should be filling him. "I need you."

If she thought the taste of his moans and skin in her mouth were delicious, it’s nothing compared to his desperate begging. “Oh, a girl could get used to this,” she says and slides her fingers out of him. She grabs his wrist, turns his palm over, and pours some of the spicy-scented oil into his hand. “Let’s see if you’re as good with your hands as you promised.” She leads his slicked up hand to her cock and wraps their fingers around her length. Val leads his hand for a stroke or two up and down, before she releases her grip on him and moves to attend to his abandoned piercing. 

“I must admit,” she says, staring up into his face as she flicks her tongue over the cool metal ring, “I’ve always been a little curious about nipple rings.” She sticks the tip of her tongue through the hoop and pulls the metal into her mouth and sucks, hard, tasting his skin on her tongue and feeling it scrape against her front teeth. Val’s eyes stay open, watching, waiting to see what his reaction is to her attentions. She drops the closed bottle of lube onto the bed and reaches for his other hand, still tugging and twisting the ring on the other side. She guides his hand up to her small breast and uses his fingers to pinch and twist her own nipple. 

She moans at the sensation, lost in the push, pull, give, take of the moment and her back arches as she thrusts again into Garrick’s slick, lube warmed hand. “Don’t you dare fucking stop,” she says as she grudgingly moves his hand away from her cock and leans down to line herself up with his warmed, tight hole. She’s had to shift up, her forehead almost aligned with his and she pushes into his willing body. 

He doesn't need the help of her fingers on his as he strokes over her soft skin, squeezing the firm length of her shaft, rolling and stroking his thumb over the velvety tip as she tugs at his hard nipples. The flick of her warm tongue elicits a low keening sound that is far from an affectation. 

"The pain is delightful." He murmurs, nosing into the sweet scent of her hair and grasping the softness of her breast as his hand is brought to bear there. Deliberately rough, he digs his fingertips into the bruise where he had bitten her, pinching hard at the warm little bud between his fingertips. Then, freed from her insistent hands, he's left to focus his attention there, threat or no he has no intention of letting up now. "It's own sort of pleasure."

His hands are strong and unyielding, fingers and palms squeezing hard as he plucks at the peaks of her stiff aroused nipples, harder than he might play with most but she's not complaining. Then he feels the familiar brush of that velvety soft crown against him, his hole blossoming to her firm thrust and tingling with slick warmth as she penetrates him.

Relief. It's a complicated feeling being penetrated by a lesser being, her flesh warm and solid inside him as it slides along his tight channel, reawakening things long dead that all of his reading has told him shouldn't be. That doesn't make the sensations less real, doesn't make it any less fulfilling to be spread wide and taken. He moans low and loud, shuddering with the intense waves of pleasure that are so very close to the delight of feeding. He lifts his hips to meet hers, fitting them together fully as he buries his face against the softness of her neck, kissing and teasing her there too.

"Harder." He pleads breathlessly, curving his index finger to drive the blunt edge of his nail into her nipple. "Please… Val…"

He’s doing as she asked, not stopping the beautiful pain at her nipples, his strong, deft fingers taking her apart as she buries herself into his yielding body. She can’t fight against her desire anymore and Garrick’s soft plea destroys what little self control she had left. She moves her hands down to his hips and with surprising strength pushes him up further onto the bed, following him with a powerful, deep thrust of her hips. “Better now?” she pants, grinding deep, stretching him wider with each slam of her body against his. The weight of Garrick’s impossibly hard and flushed length tickles the stretch of skin between her belly button and the base of her cock. She reaches down for the lost bottle of lube and flicks it open once again. She smiles and brings her slick-covered hand down to coat Robert’s cock as well, relishing in the feeling of the warm oil against her belly. She keeps stroking him in time with her thrusts, speeding up ever quicker as she once again finds his prostate at this new angle. 

“Fuck, please, I need… I need…” she can’t quite find the words, she needs the world to narrow and stop again, like it did in the bar, like it did in the back of the car. It's her turn to plead, and beg as she finds herself so close and so far away, from describing what it is that she needs. “Do it again, I need you to, please, do it again for me, Daddy.”

It's so, so much better. His voice pitches louder, a desperate growling sound of a hungry predator dropped into an orgy of blood and flesh. He moves with her, mirroring her panting breaths when he remembers to breathe at all.

Then she begs, and the Beast within him needs no words to spur him into action. The litany of disgusted abuse in his mind is drown out by her desperate cries to take of her body just a little more.

Snarling, he folds to press his mouth to her bruised breast and stifles the sound to draw at her supple flesh. He holds himself back, edging along the line of demarcation between man and beast as he laps over the hard nub of her nipple. His front teeth catch it first, pushing and grinding as he feels the control on his own flesh begin to slip. Taking her into his arms, despite the slowing of her thrusts, his nails scrape down her back and tear at the cheap lace strap.

His body is the first to give, pulsing warm slick fluid between their bellies, but the scent of vitae hits the air and he cannot stop himself from sliding to sink one fang deep into the tissue of her breast, the other piercing through the firm skin of her nipple as he drinks deep.

This, this is what she was asking for, and she feels herself slipping away even as she tries to maintain her pace, to give him everything he begged her for. The sharp pleasure-pain at her breast and the warm spill between their bodies and the otherworldly suffusion of pleasure sends her flying. Her entire world becomes black sky and silver stars and the red blood of her pulse as she comes harder than she ever has in her life. She can feel her balls tighten and empty and pulse in time with the throbbing of her cock, with the rhythmic suckling of Garrick’s mouth at her teat and wave after wave of bliss crashes through her. 

Suddenly, her world goes dark, black and empty, the silver fireworks and crimson light gone and she thinks, this must be what dying feels like. Why is everyone so scared of such a beautiful thing?

But then, there she is, staring at herselves, split apart, as if in a funhouse mirror. They’re all talking at once and she can’t focus, it’s just phrases and half-formed thoughts. 

I told you something wasn’t right.  
He only smiles with his teeth.

But where did the lighter fluid come from?

You’re going to have to wake up soon if you want to wake up at all. 

He’s never going to love you, just forget it. 

The picture of herself in her mind snaps her fingers at the distorted ghosts, impatient and unamused. “It’s time for all y’all to shut up. I’m not dealing with any of you bitches right now.” And the world is dark. 

He can feel the racing of her pulse, the hot seed pumping into his body as small streaks of her lifeblood dribble from the sides of his mouth down the bare white pillow of her breast. Snarling, satisfied as much as he can be with a single drink, he licks clean and seals the wound - leaving her nipple pierced through with his fine fang.

Well, can't have one without the other… it ruins the aesthetic entirely. She's gone limp in his arms, but he's more than strong enough to roll her onto the bed and grind down against the dwindling length of her cock as he sits atop her hips. She's a mess, pale belly stained with his essence, bruised and bitten, even more pale from the blood lost as the veins along her breasts have gone dark and cut like jagged lighting across her skin. The other is purely a cosmetic nibble, he hooks his fang on her flesh and pierces the skin as she moans and writhes in her semi-conscious state. If he bites her again, he will drink and she'll need an ambulance and not a taxi.

Or a hearse. You could end her, end the suffering. She'd go out with a hell of a bang, wouldn't she? To die young and beautiful, not bearing the curse you shoved down her throat. 

He shakes his head and growls at the invasion of his voice, the Beast snapping at his heel always. "Val." He says firmly, capturing her wrists and bringing them up to the pillows above her head. Just in case, she wouldn't he the first to try and fight back before he can fix it. "Val, open your eyes darling. Look at me. Let me see those beautiful eyes."

All it takes is a second, a quick glimpse of his eyes and she'll forget the pain, forget any realization he's not exactly what he is, and for the time it'll take to clean her up and get her dressed she'll be blissfully empty. "That was perfect. You are the most intriguing lover I've had the pleasure of knowing. Look at me so I can kiss you again."

She can hear the pull of a voice, beyond the warm, fuzzy blanket of blackness she’s wrapped her psyche in. But there’s a command, a pull, and her eyelids flutter open like leaden butterfly wings. There he is, just centimeters away from her face, his eyes drilling into hers. She tries to speak, but the weight of her own tongue is an impossibly heavy burden. She should be afraid, the thought flits across her mind. She should try to break free and run, as fast and as far as she can. What she does do is give into the irresistible pressure to keep her eyelids open and the herculean task of inhaling and exhaling ragged breaths. Her pulse is raging in her ears, like an alarm screaming for her attention. None of these things, her pulse, her breath, her fear, is important, a calm voice dominates within her mind. 

By some miracle or magic she manages to keep her eyes open, and maybe she’ll be rewarded. 

She opens her eyes and he smiles, taking firm hold of her mind as he allows her arms free. "There you are." He murmurs, gentle and far too calm. "You are such a good girl." He kisses her gently, allowing himself to be tender, to have that part of him be what she remembers after the intensity of their romp. "You're very sleepy, but that's okay. I'll make sure you get home safe."

Slowly, he slides off her and turns his back, allowing her the memory of his body, of taking a tub of towelettes off the table and wiping away what is definitely not blood before. "Help me with your blouse, Val." He states casually, more than a little enchanted by her slow clumsy movements. Like a precious marionette she answers his requests with action. "I'll take care of your skirt." He slides her to the edge of the bed, cradling her to his chest, and then kneels before her.

The lube wiped away, she tastes faintly of cloves and cinnamon when he licks at her spent cock, drawing it between his lips and giving her the memory of the pleasure they've shared tonight. "You are beautiful." He groans against her thighs, letting up only to find himself drawn back again for another long lick as he draws her panties back up. 

The nylons are a lost cause, but she's mostly dressed in her skirt and boots when he gets the idea for one last gift to show his appreciation for what she's given him. "Don't move, darling. I'll be right back."

Returning, she is unmoved, the bottom buttons of her blouse done but the top hanging open to show the marvelous bruises and angry peaks of stiff freshly pierced nipples. "For your curiosity." He murmurs, taking a knee as he slides the fine gold hoops through. "I know it hurts, but the pain is delightful, isn't it?"

She'll be fading back in soon enough, and he wants to be sure she's already left when she does. "There's a car downstairs." He fetches his robe, proper dress be damned, it's late and time is of the essence. "I'll take you there."

Val stands up, her movements slowed and purposeful with none of her usual grace or energy. She blinks, functionally, some still-intact part of her lizard brain knowing that keeping her eyes lubricated and clean is a necessity and Garrick is back at her elbow leading her down the hall. 

The lights of the hallway make Val want to hiss at their audacious brightness. The elevator ride is less exciting on the way down, but Val still takes the opportunity to wind one bare arm into Garrick’s robe and around his back. And if she just so happens to lean her head against his shoulder for support, well, there’s no one there to see.

The lobby lights are even worse than the hallway and Val finds herself squinting against the barely camouflaged fluorescents. Her footsteps are still heavy and purposeful, she’s maintaining her balance through the sheer force of Garrick’s commands.

Outside, back into blissful darkness and the cool air of the California night brushes against her skin. The doorman stands guard, looking straight ahead but acting like he sees nothing of the little show playing out before him. 

“So,” Val grins, her arm still looped across Garrick’s shoulders for support, “when do I get the pleasure of your reputation?” 

The driver who meets them holds open the door and waits silently for his fare, but Garrick is more than pleased to take the memory of one last gentle kiss. He breaks away with a warm smile and leads her to the town car, waiting to answer until the driver has accepted his silent acknowledgment that he'll assist her into the car. "The secret of a good performance is to always leave them wanting more."

He nuzzles carefully against her cheek, seeing the haze already beginning to fade. "Maybe we'll run into each other again, sweet Val. If not, please know I appreciate everything you've given me tonight."

He brushes a last kiss against her neck, and then lowers her into the cab with a gentle arm. "Rest well."

He steps to the curb, not allowing a response as she sinks into the warm leather seats, and closes the door with the knowledge he can't see her again

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading. 
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this mutual bit of self indulgent vampire fic. 
> 
> Let us know if y’all want more.

**Author's Note:**

> This is an RP that took on a life of its own. More chapters to come!


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